


Professor Longbottom

by ellalightwood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom, Mild Snape Bashing, Neville being recognised and praised for his accomplishments, Professor Neville Longbottom, also Professor Sprout is the number one Neville stan, basically this whole fic is just me telling you how great Neville is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellalightwood/pseuds/ellalightwood
Summary: Neville teaches a Herbology lesson at Hogwarts after quitting his job as an Auror and deciding to submit an application to Hogwarts for the position of Herbology professor, as Professor Sprout is retiring. Professors Sprout and McGonagall share their high opinions of him, all the students recognise him as Famous Neville Longbottom, and Augusta Longbottom is proud of her grandson.
Relationships: Augusta Longbottom & Neville Longbottom, Neville Longbottom & Pomona Sprout
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

It was mid-November in the year 2003, and Neville felt somewhat nervous as he walked towards the Hogwarts greenhouses. This was unusual, as the sight of the greenhouses didn’t usually make him feel nervous. During his Hogwarts years, the greenhouses had been a refuge from Malfoy and his cronies, a quiet place where he could sit and read one of his Herbology books in peace and be surrounded by the soft rustling of leaves and sweet flowery scents. It was a place where the teacher beamed at the sight of him and offered him lavish praise, instead of the sneers and cutting insults of Professor Snape or the thin-lipped disapproval of Professor McGonagall. It had always been his favourite place to go when he was feeling anxious or upset; some of the plants might snap at his fingers, but at least they didn’t jeer at his misfortunes or berate him for being useless or stupid or clumsy.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t entirely quench his feeling of trepidation. Today was his first day of teaching Herbology at Hogwarts. He wasn’t technically a Professor yet, but after his application had been accepted by Professor McGonagall, he’d been invited to come up to the castle and teach Herbology for a few weeks. If all went well, he’d be able to take over from Professor Sprout once she retired. It was a much different system from the one that had existed when Dumbledore was Headmaster; Neville highly doubted the many Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers they’d had had gone through rigorous teacher training. The change probably had something to do with the fact that certain positions at Hogwarts weren’t considered cursed anymore, so the school was actually hiring competent teachers, not just whoever would take the job.

He at least hoped he would be a better teacher than he had been an Auror. He’d tried doing that for a year and a half, and had found it utterly exhausting, realising that after the war he’d just had enough of fighting and putting himself in life-threatening situations. In hindsight, he suspected he’d probably only taken the job because it was what his gran had wanted him to do; his parents had both been Aurors, after all. She’d been a little disappointed when he told her he had quit his job, but eventually had said that he should do whatever made him happy, and if a job at Hogwarts was what he really wanted, she wouldn’t try to stop him.  
“I’m proud of you, whatever you choose to do,” she’d said, squeezing his hand. “And your parents would be proud, too.”

“Neville!” Professor Sprout greeted him at the entrance of Greenhouse Three with her usual cheery smile. The knot in his stomach eased a little. “Wonderful to see you. Ready for your first lesson, eh?”

“I think so,” Neville said, smiling back at her.

“Excellent. You’ll be working with the second-years this morning, relatively straightforward I should think. They’re doing Mandrakes,” Sprout said, gesturing at the long table behind her, which was lined with pots. The pots were each filled with soil, and quivering green leaves sprouted from them. In the centre of the table was a pile of earmuffs. “You’ve prepared some material for the lesson, of course?”

“Yeah.” Neville reached into the pocket of his robes and extracted a roll of parchment. On it he’d scribbled notes for the lesson, ideas for what he was going to teach, how he would introduce the lesson and so forth, and he’d pored over them relentlessly during the train ride up to Hogwarts. Though Sprout had not been his teacher for five years, he still felt his chest swell with pride at her approving nod.

“The students should be here in a few minutes. Don’t worry too much – they’re a nice bunch, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, they shouldn’t be much trouble. Just be calm and confident, and don’t take nonsense from anyone. I will be observing from the back if you need me for anything, but remember it’s _your_ lesson, so try not to rely on me too much. Ah – here they come!”

From across the lawn, Neville could see a stream of second-years making their way to the greenhouses. The sound of their voices carried over to them, bright and full of laughter. He and Professor Sprout stood just outside the greenhouse as they approached. The second-years gathered in front of them, and Neville was struck by how young they all looked. Had he been that small at their age? They stared up at him, and some of them whispered; he thought he caught his name amongst the whispers. They looked like they’d come from a Potions lesson; he saw stains of some liquid on the robes of a bespectacled boy at the front of the group, a smear of what looked like leech juice on a dark-haired girl’s cheek, and the whole group carried a general scent of hot, sticky dungeons and smoke.

Professor Sprout cleared her throat, and the students fell silent. “Good morning, everyone. I’m delighted to introduce you to Professor Longbottom here, who will be teaching you today.” She patted Neville’s shoulder, and Neville blushed at the evident pride in her voice. “One of the finest Herbologists I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching.”

One of the Hufflepuff second-years raised his hand. “Is it true you were in the same year as Harry Potter?” he asked Neville in an awed tone.

And here came the questions. He’d been expecting them; although these students were too young to have been at Hogwarts during the war, many of them would have had older family members who were involved in some way, and those that didn’t might have found out from older students at Hogwarts. He generally shared Harry’s dislike of having attention drawn to him, but he supposed if he was going to teach here, he would have to get used to questions. He wouldn’t be a Snape, shutting them down with snide words and mockery for daring to speak up.

“Yes, I was,” he said, smiling at the boy. “He was in the same house as me, so we shared a dorm while we were here and he became one of my closest friends.”

“My dad says you chopped Voldemort’s snake’s head off with the Sword of Gryffindor,” a girl pipes up, hand half raised.

“Also correct.” He saw more of the students beginning to raise their hands, questions on the tips of their tongues. Professor Sprout looked about to intervene and chide them for asking questions irrelevant to the lesson. “I’d answer more questions about all of that, but then you’d have to sit and listen to me talk all day, and trust me, you don’t want that. I’m much more boring than the _Daily Prophet_ would have you believe.”

Some appreciative smiles and laughs from the class, to his relief. He’d been worried that they would just stare silently at him and think he was weird and unfunny. “Alright, then,” he said. “Shall we get started?”

The class passed relatively uneventfully for a few minutes. He gathered them round the long table, beginning by asking them who could guess what these plants might be. A second’s pause, and then a tall blonde Ravenclaw girl answered, looking pleased with herself when he said “Well done.” He put them to work on the Mandrake pots, demonstrating for them first and then instructing them to put on their earmuffs and make sure their ears were properly covered. Then he walked around the table, stopping occasionally to offer words of praise or advice, helping two of the students with particularly stubborn Mandrakes.

“You’re doing well,” Professor Sprout murmured as he passed her. She was sitting in a wooden chair at the back of the greenhouse, watching the goings-on with a quiet smile.

“You think so?” Neville asked.

“Oh, certainly. I’ve never seen young Davison over there so attentive in a lesson before.” Davison was one of the Hufflepuffs, a boy with hair so red he could’ve passed as a Weasley.

“Well, I learned from the best,” Neville said, which made her chuckle.

After the lesson, the students helped him clear up, returning the earmuffs to the middle of the table. As they filed out of the greenhouse, Professor Sprout stood up from her chair and clapped him on the back, inviting him up to the staff room for tea and feedback on his lesson. He would rest there until the next lesson, with the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins. So, he peeled off his muddy dragon hide gloves, and followed Professor Sprout back up to the castle, feeling a great deal braver than before.


	2. Chapter 2

“The boy’s a natural, Minerva,” Pomona Sprout declared that evening in the staff room. 

Neville had gone home by now, and the teachers were gathered in the staff room, conferring with each other about how the day had gone. Pomona was sitting on the large, comfy sofa with Minerva McGonagall, relaying the events of Neville’s Herbology lessons. “Yes, you have been telling me so since his third year, I believe,” Minerva said with an amused smile, sipping her mug of coffee. 

“He’ll make a damn good Herbology professor when I’m gone,” Pomona continued. “You should’ve seen – I’ve never seen anyone create such a rapport with the students, and he was only with each class for about two hours each! Filius was just telling me – Filius,” she said, calling the attention of the Charms professor, who was sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, grading first-years’ essays. “Weren’t you just saying that the fifth years had Charms after their Herbology lesson, and they couldn’t stop talking about Neville’s lesson?”

“Oh, yes,” Filius Flitwick beamed. “Yes, they were chattering away about it as they came in, said it was the best lesson they’d ever had!”  
“I’ve always said Longbottom had the makings of a fine teacher,” Pomona said. “He’s kind and patient, he’s never struck me as the sort to lose his temper easily, and you could just tell that he had a genuine passion for the subject from the way he taught it. And, I mean, he led Dumbledore’s Army during the last year of the war, didn’t he? He has all the qualities of a true leader; someone students could look to for guidance if they were struggling. Minerva, I’m telling you, he is the perfect choice for this position. There is no one better. I’ve said it time and time again, that boy has a gift, and he deserves the chance to cultivate it!”

Minerva hummed in agreement. She had been poring over her notes from last week’s interviews, and she recalled that she had been most impressed by Neville’s interview. He had always seemed such a shy, quiet boy in her class, and indeed most of the professors had reported that he tended to sit at the back of the classroom and hardly ever raised his hand in a lesson. Pomona, on the other hand, had found a quiet boy who had blossomed into a brilliant and capable young man who excelled in her lessons and was always ready to answer questions and participate in demonstrations for the class. She recalled Pomona telling her how delighted Neville had seemed when he realised that he had a real talent for Herbology, when for so long he had believed himself to be a hopeless dunce at everything. 

“I was surprised,” Filius said, “when I heard he’d taken up a job in the Auror Department. Undoubtedly he is a skilled duellist – he proved as much during that final battle – but I always thought he’d feel more at home doing something like this.”

“Precisely.” Pomona bit the head off a Ginger Newt. “I didn’t think he was suited for that job at all, to be honest. I don’t know what Kingsley was thinking. He’d do much better here, he told me himself that the greenhouses were his favourite place to visit at Hogwarts – and I saw how he enjoyed helping his classmates when they struggled in the lessons, such a patient teacher, I hear several of them would come up to him after class and ask him for help with their Herbology homework. I really do mean it when I say that Neville was born to be a teacher!”

“Well then, we’ll see how it goes,” Minerva said. Neville, she thought, was looking very promising. She was sure the students he’d taught so far would be delighted if he began officially teaching in September next year. 

She did try not to play favourites, but secretly she was rooting for Neville. He was from her House, and he’d made them all so proud over the last few years. When he’d walked into her office for the interview, for a moment she hadn’t recognised him; he’d been full of a casual confidence, a quiet self-assurance she’d never seen before. He’d held himself like a man who was certain of his destiny, not a timid boy trying desperately to live up to his parents’ towering reputations and his grandmother’s rigid expectations. She remembered how he would cower under Snape’s cold gaze, and thought that the battle-scarred man who stood before her did not look like someone who could be cowed into submission or brought to tears by the scathing remarks of a teacher. A true Gryffindor, she’d thought, remembering how Gryffindor’s Sword blazed silver in his hands, remembering how he’d stood before Lord Voldemort and snarled _I’ll join you when Hell freezes over!_

Though she did not say it, she agreed with Pomona. She’d see Neville get a position here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry if it was the last thing she ever did. 

***

It was now late March, and a letter stamped with the familiar Hogwarts school crest had found its way to Neville.

_Dear Mr Longbottom_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been successful in your application for the position of Herbology Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and to welcome you as a member of Hogwarts staff. Please find enclosed a summary of Hogwarts rules and expectations, including dress code for both staff and students, the House point system, the behaviour expected of a member of staff, and various duties you will be expected to fulfil._   
_Please respond to this letter confirming that you will be joining us when term begins on September 1st, by no later than 31st July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_   
_Headmistress_

“Gran,” Neville said slowly. “I’ve got the job.”

His Gran looked up from the Daily Prophet. “What was that, dear?”

He waved the letter at her, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ve got the job! Herbology professor!”

“Oh!” Augusta Longbottom threw the Prophet down at once and took the letter from him, scanning over it and looking delighted. “See, I told you,” she said, and he noted with pleasure that there was the same pride in her voice that had been in Professor Sprout’s. “I told you they’d be daft not to take you on! Well then, we’d better go straight to Diagon Alley, get you some nice new robes to wear – you should write to your Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid right away, they’ll be so pleased, and – shall we go up to St Mungo’s, too?”

Neville smiled. His Mum and Dad had lost their minds after being tortured by Death Eaters, and most of the time they were unresponsive when he spoke to them, merely staring blankly or smiling vacantly at him as though not really sure what he was doing there. But he’d visit them anyway, of course. He liked talking to them, even if they never talked back. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he said. 

Augusta reached over to him and pulled him into an unexpected hug. “They’d be so proud,” she said, voice muffled against his shoulder. “They really would.”

Miles away, in the staff room at Hogwarts Castle, Pomona Sprout was triumphantly writing a letter of congratulations to Neville, smiling to herself as she wrote. Now, she thought, she could retire in peace, knowing that the Hogwarts greenhouses were in the capable hands of her favourite protégé. She would miss teaching, of course; she loved each and every one of the students she taught, taking Helga Hufflepuff’s “I’ll teach the lot, and treat them just the same” philosophy to heart. But at the same time, she was getting old and tired, and thought that a nice quiet cottage by the sea with a plentiful garden would suit her very well.   
So, with a contented sigh, she finished off the letter to Neville. In the letter, as well as in her mind, she wished him luck, hoping that his time as a teacher at Hogwarts would not be as fraught with danger as his time as a student had been.


	3. Chapter 3

“And before we begin our feast, I’d like to welcome a few new members of staff,” Professor McGonagall said. 

Neville felt the eyes of almost every student in the Great Hall on him. Hagrid caught his eye from further down the teachers’ table and gave him a grin and a thumbs up. It felt very weird to be sitting with the teachers; when he’d arrived, he’d almost gone and sat at the Gryffindor table, but had corrected himself just in time to save himself from embarrassment. He was seated where Professor Sprout had once sat, between Professor Flitwick and Professor Blackstone, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who had replaced Amycus Carrow. 

“…as some of you may now be aware, Professor Longbottom will be replacing Professor Sprout, who has now retired after almost fifty years of experience as a Herbology teacher at this school.”

Hearty applause rang out across the Hall as Neville stood up and looked out on the sea of hundreds of young faces staring up at him. He wondered if he should wave, or if that would make him look stupid. He opted for smiling and nodding, noticing how, like in his first few practice classes, some of the students whispered to each other and pointed at him. The applause went on for far longer than it probably should have, reminding him of how people had cheered and then kept on cheering when Harry was Sorted into Gryffindor in their first year. Professor McGonagall (who he was apparently supposed to call Minerva now, something that seemed utterly inconceivable to him) gave everyone one of her famous stern looks, and the applause gradually died down. 

Neville sat back down, Flitwick patting him on the back. McGonagall made a final announcement that, since the post of Head of Hufflepuff House was now vacant, this would be filled by Professor Fairhaven, the Muggle Studies professor who had replaced Alecto Carrow and who also happened to be a Hufflepuff. There was a smattering of polite applause for her. 

Professor Fairhaven and Professor Blackstone were the only two professors he had never met before, since they had been appointed a few months after the Battle of Hogwarts, when he had already left the school along with Harry and Ron for Kingsley Shacklebolt’s Auror program. They seemed friendly enough; Fairhaven had warmly congratulated him on getting the job, and both she and Blackstone had wished him luck and said that if he ever needed anything, he could come to them. Professor Fairhaven, whose first name was Emilia, was a young-looking witch who couldn’t be much older than Neville, petite and snub-nosed with deep blue eyes that blinked behind red-framed glasses, and with glossy chestnut curls that fell to her shoulders. Professor Blackstone – first name Xavier – was tall and brown-skinned, with sharp honey-brown eyes set in a square-jawed face, and an even sharper tongue, probably in his late thirties or early forties. Professor Fairhaven, a Muggleborn, had been on the run with her family during the war, but Professor Blackstone had worked within the Ministry as a spy for the Order.

Slughorn was still here, sitting on Flitwick’s other side, still as jovial and prone to favouritism as ever. There was Madam Pomfrey seated between the Arithmancy and Astronomy professors. Madam Hooch was at the far end of the table from him, and, to the great surprise of most of the students and staff, Professor Trelawney and Professor Binns were there – the two of them were hardly ever seen outside of their classrooms. There was a woman sitting at the other end of the table who Neville thought might be the Ancient Runes teacher, though he couldn’t remember her name, having never taken the class himself. And there was Argus Filch, surly as ever, standing guard at the Great Hall doors with Mrs Norris twining herself around his legs. 

McGonagall returned to her seat with a small smile in Neville’s direction. He was just beginning to feel drowsy – thinking longingly of his old four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitories, and the cosy armchairs by the common room fireplace – when the feast appeared on the tables. Neville dug in like a man who hadn’t eaten in days. The Hall was abuzz with chatter, people laughing and talking and the clatter of knives and forks on plates, the sound comfortingly familiar to him. The ceiling of the Great Hall was dark and speckled with stars, the whole place lit with floating candles that reflected dazzlingly off the plates and cutlery. The ghosts drifted around the tables; he saw Nearly-Headless Nick hovering at the Gryffindor table, perhaps reluctantly demonstrating for the first years the exact reason why he was called “Nearly Headless,” as Neville remembered him doing when it had been his own first year. He looked over the four House tables, but couldn’t see anyone he might know. Those of his friends who had had children already would not be seeing them off to Hogwarts for a good few years yet; Harry and Ginny’s first child, James, had been born a few months ago, and he knew George and Angelina had had a baby boy called Fred around the same time. Harry had a godson, Teddy, who was six; so only five years to go for him. Bill and Fleur also had young children he had met briefly one Christmas, the eldest about two years younger than Teddy. It would be strange, teaching his friends’ children, but he found he couldn’t wait till the time came for them to come to Hogwarts.

This year, he thought, would be a good year. No Death Eaters in their school, no threat of Voldemort looming over them, no one forced into hiding or fearing for their lives. It had been that way for six years now; it was a time of relative peace, for which Neville was grateful. Hopefully, this year, the worst thing he’d have to battle would be a mounting pile of students’ essays that needed marking. 


End file.
